The Course of Love Never Did Run Smooth
by museme87
Summary: In fifth year, Remus is in love with two of his best mates. One is oblivious, but the other may not be. Remus/Sirius  unrequited  & Remus/James  unrequited


**Warnings:** Unrequited love, snogging, minor infidelity (with R/S as the infidelity pairing), teenage angst, teenage Sirius' arrogance

* * *

Remus rests his head against the stone of the windowed alcove in their dormitory, knees drawn to chest and mug of hot cocoa in hand. The waxing gibbous illuminates the sky, but he doesn't need to look at it to know that. The wolf has already greeted him like he does around this time every month, with one mind numbing headache. The loud music carrying from the common room does little to help his condition.

He can't begrudge his housemates a celebration in honor of their stunning victory over Ravenclaw though. It had been a fantastic match—neck-and-neck for points, brilliant flying, a few close calls—but Sirius and James managed to keep Gryffindor just ahead and bought time for Sophie to catch the Snitch. As it stands, Gryffindor is now in first place, and from what Remus understands—which isn't much, only what James and Sirius tell him—they stand a good chance of taking the cup come Spring.

So Remus sits quietly, making his peace with the happenings downstairs rather than asking James—ever the party instigator—to turn the music down at bit. He sips his cocoa, the bittersweet liquid heavenly on his tongue, warming his slightly chilled body.

Out of boredom, he begins to count the stars. By the time he reaches forty-seven, Sirius comes through the door, and Remus can't quite remember which he's counted after that. His mind is ever quick to wander these days, and his eyes are too busy devouring the sight of Sirius to be bothered with the sky any longer.

This is a new development—his attraction to Sirius. Sirius, unlike James, is a recently acquired fancy, a crush just five weeks in the making . Remus thinks God must be having a hearty chuckle at his expense. Because being a teenager, a werewolf, gay, and desperately in love with James Potter wasn't quite enough to make his life hellish.

His cock tells him that Sirius is the best thing since James—though, given the choice, he'd snog James first. Sometimes Remus wonders what he sees in Sirius. Sirius is vain and arrogant and a prat and a bully and any number of other horrible things that only the masochistic would find undeniably sexy. However, his cock is quick to remind him that those are simply unimportant details when one considers those jutting hipbones, or broad shoulders, or how Sirius' upper lip is slightly fuller than his bottom, or that fucking flawless hair. So Remus resigns himself to the fact that he does fancy Sirius, as senseless as it is.

"What are you staring at, Moony?" Sirius asks.

_Your gorgeous hands_, he wants to say, but resists. Instead he simply shakes his head and shrugs, as if Sirius isn't fit, as if he has no interest in him, as if he's _straight_. Sometimes Remus still acts like he hasn't outted himself to his friends, despite the fact that he has and they've caught him in bed with a bloke before. He finds it somehow easier to deal with that way, like pretending to be straight will make these unwanted feelings for James and Sirius go away. But it doesn't and they won't, so Remus suffers them like he suffers the moon.

"You played well today."

Sirius smirks. "Tell me something I don't know."

Remus doesn't want to think of Sirius' easy arrogance, doesn't want to compare Sirius' response to James' doubtless, _Thanks, mate_ and easy, dreamy smile. He reminds himself that Sirius is just sixteen, heir to a dynasty, and wealthy beyond Remus' wildest dreams. Arrogance was instilled in him from birth, and being sixteen only amplifies it. Somehow Remus doesn't find James arrogant, for all that he and Sirius are similar. He makes excuses for James because he is fifteen and in love. And Sirius, well they haven't been getting alone so great lately due to Sirius' complete hatred for Remus' latest—and now ex—boyfriend. And Remus' irritation makes him quicker to point out Sirius' faults, despite the fact he wanks to the thought of him.

Sirius walks towards him, all swagger that only Sirius could make sexy. His cockiness shifts into a subtle concern. He leans against the wall, arms crossed over chest.

"You feeling alright?"

Remus points out the window to the moon. "The aches are starting to set in."

"Turn around."

"Hmm?" he asks, thoroughly confused.

"Come on, Moony, just do it."

Remus does, as Sirius moves to sit behind him. He has no idea where Sirius is going with this, no idea until he feels Sirius' hands on his shoulders and nearly jumps out of his skin. But then those fingers—long, thin, wonderful—begin to rub his weary muscles into submission and Remus can't quite contain the little moan that slips past his lips.

"This okay?"

It's more than okay. In fact, _really_ more than okay because Sirius has the full attention of his cock now, the touch of Sirius' hands sending surges of pleasure to Remus' core. Remus damns himself for getting so worked up over this, but it's technically not entirely his fault. The full is close, and in about forty-eight hours those primal urges will start driving his sensibilities rather than gently swaying them like they are now. This is the wolf's fault, and if Sirius happens to see what sort of reaction he's having on him, well, Remus will blame his condition.

"Why aren't you down at the party?" Remus asks, genuinely curious.

"Knew you were alone up here. I thought I would come to collect on our wager while Pete and James are getting drunk and chatting up birds. Saves us the trouble of finding alone time later."

Remus can't believe he agreed to Sirius' ruddy wager in the first place. But Sirius had been dressed in his Quidditch kit and those trousers left so little to the imagination and his fucking hair had been pulled back into a stubby ponytail at the base of his neck. Honestly, at the time it seemed like the most sensible thing in the world to agree to kiss him if Gryffindor won against Ravenclaw.

But that stupid wager had been built on the fact that Remus was dating Ravenclaw's Keeper and Captain, a bloke that, for some reason beyond Remus' understanding, Sirius hated. They aren't dating anymore though—with no thanks to Sirius— so Remus was under the impression that the wager was off. Or at least he had been until this morning when Sirius reminded him of it, asking if they were still on. He had nodded dumbly in response, too busy trying to inconspicuously look at James in his kit.

"You're sure you want to go through with this?"

"Of course."

Remus ducks out from under Sirius' hands, shifts, and looks him in the eye. "I know you hate Elliah, and I know you hated the time I spent with him even more."

"This was never about getting one up on Wilkinson, if that's what you think."

"Then what is it about?"

He never gets his answer because Sirius leans over, his lips—those lips that Remus has fantasized about of late—brush hesitantly against his, Sirius' hand molding against the back of his neck. A brush turns into a crushing force as soon as Remus finds his lips struggling to work against Sirius'. He's momentarily helpless, his body singing under Sirius' touch, desire—once smoldering—transformed into a conflagration.

Sirius coaxes his lips to part, and it doesn't take much. Tongues meet—hot and slick—tangle, seek, explore. Remus yields to his touch. He never imagined kissing Sirius would feel like this, like electricity, like magic gliding across his skin bringing his senses to life. And maybe it is magic—their magic—combining in this single moment.

Remus doesn't want it to end, but his lungs are starting to protest. If he lets go, it'll all be over. It was just a bet for a single kiss. And if Remus asks for more, Sirius will figure things out, will never want to be his friend again.

It's Sirius who pulls away, breathless. He pushes back a lock of Remus' hair, face still so close. Remus eyes shift from grey eyes to kiss-swollen lips and back again. He doesn't know what Sirius is thinking—doesn't _want_ to know. Because whatever it is, it can't be good. Sirius is straight. He has a girlfriend. Everyone knows that.

"Happy?" Remus whispers, trying to break the awkward silence.

Sirius runs him thumb across Remus' lower lip. "Um…yeah."

Then like gravity, they find themselves coming together again. Just as their lips touch, a knock echoes through the door, and they jump apart from each other in a split second. It's just in time, too, because the door opens and in pops Sophie, Sirius' girlfriend.

"Here you are. I didn't know where you'd run off to," she says.

"Sorry," Sirius replies, standing and walking towards her, "Came up to check on Remus. He's a bit under the weather."

Remus doesn't know how Sirius can lie so easily to her, especially when he claims he loves her. And Remus can't believe that he just snogged someone's boyfriend, wager or no wager. Guilt bears down on him hard. He can't look Sophie in the eye when she asks if he's feeling any better, can't stand the sight of her petite frame, her brown, plaited hair, her pixie-like face. More than anything, he doesn't know how Sirius _can_.

She grabs Sirius' hand—the hand that had just previously been on the nape of Remus' neck. "Are you coming back down?"

Turning, Sirius looks at him, his eyes filled to the brim with his apology. Remus shrugs like it doesn't make any difference to him—what else can he do? The kiss didn't change a thing. Sirius is still with Sophie. Remus is still pining after two of his best mates. And the world—for all that it paused briefly—continues to turn.


End file.
